Classy Man
by Canadino
Summary: Charm doesn't just go on a bracelet. US/UK


**Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the story idea and only some of the witty remarks. I own so little; so please don't steal.**

Background music: -

[=]

The hinges of the doors to the World Conference room were always well oiled. This was because they were constantly in use and had to do their jobs soundlessly and accurately as one Arthur Kirkland (or _England_ as he was known among his peers) slammed open the doors and stormed into the hallway, a habit he indulged in at every meeting. Today, France followed him at a leisurely pace.

"I can't believe that boy!" England ranted, not caring much for France but being too angry to mind who he was griping to. "Whenever I think America can't be dafter, he surpasses himself. Installing air conditioners at the polar ice caps to stop them from melting? Unbelievable."

"I'm sure he was only joking," France said passively.

"This is a _serious_ meeting and he is throwing in his jokes? Hasn't he learned yet these things are _serious_? I don't know where he got this from; I was a _good_ role model." England puffed out his chest as France rolled his eyes behind him. "Honestly, every time I deal with him, he finds new ways to be foolish; singing as his way of answering the phone, playing stupid games that are 'fascinating' like that one about launching birds – if I hadn't had a hand in raising him, I'd strike him down myself. And-"

"And yet here you are, still prattling on about him."

"That was only the _preamble_ of my list," England said stoutly, pinking in the face. "He's got no class; he's educated alright – he's got schools that rival _my_ fine institutions – but he says ignorant things and can make everyone despise him…oh, why do I bother." He scowled to himself, purposely ignoring France's wide grin. "He's a generally charmless man."

"There are many forms of charm," France supplied (not) helpfully. "Mine, for instance, is seductive." Somehow his hand had ended up on England's butt without the blonde noticing. England punched him in the face. "America can just have a different style," France said, clutching his throbbing cheek.

"Charm?" England scoffed, wishing France would disappear now. "Hardly."

[=]

_Example one of America's charmlessness:_

England was walking down the hall, perfectly minding his own business, when America bumped _hard_ into him.

"Watch it!" England snapped, looking up to see that the hall was deserted besides the two of them. "You had the whole hall to walk in."

"I hip-checked you," America explained, as if he made sense. "I thought you'd have some moves like Jagger." Before England could demand _why_ he referenced one of his classic rock stars, America sauntered away whistling an irritatingly catchy tune.

_Example two of America's charmlessness:_

America was noisily eating away at the greasefest in front of him with no consideration to the grease's feelings. England watched him tepidly. America noticed him watching.

"Want one?" he offered generously from the steadily diminishing pile.

"No," England sniffed, mortified at the thought. He turned away and left America to make short work of his beloved pile of processed _stuff_.

_Example three of America's charmlessness_:

It seemed that all they were doing now these days was having meetings among the whole group of them, and it was England's turn today to make a grand speech the Italy twins were probably not going to listen to and France was going to object to. He didn't know why he bothered. Still, to make the effort look good, he walked to the hall from his hotel, a good fifteen minute stroll to clear his mind and go over his speech again.

There was an obnoxious honk and England turned to see a shiny red Corvette roll up to his side of the curb. "Hey," America greeted cheerily. "Want me to give you a ride? Check her out! I just got her."

"I'm fine," England scoffed. "And did none of that conservationist talk get to your head? Along with the fact that you can't even afford things like this?"

"I _can_," America mumbled, sounding hurt and defensive of his new car.

"Just leave me alone. You're blocking traffic." The Corvette was rolling slowly along the side of the street, bothering the busy drivers behind him. America gave him a dissatisfied face and sped away, spewing more carbon.

[=]

It was a vicious cycle because America couldn't take a hint. "Hey, there's supposed to be a meteor shower tonight," he babbled next to England's ear as they stood waiting for the Prime Minister to make a speech to secure the masses. "Wanna go watch it with me? I've got a place near my house that's really good for looking at the stars."

"When will you ever get tired of spouting nonsense like that, about _stars_," England grouched. "Whenever I talk to you, it's always something strange."

America was silent for a moment, and England thought he might have dealt a very good blow, when America burst out with, "What do I have to do to get you to look at me? Ask you out for a candlelit dinner?"

"That would be nice," England shot back. They turned from each other with a stubborn huff. There was a crackle of the microphone as the Prime Minister cleared his throat loudly to the discomfort of the many eardrums listening to him.

"How about Friday at seven?" America asked quietly. "I'll pick you up."

"Alright," England agreed reluctantly. There was still no class in that; it wasn't even the right time or place to ask such a thing. For someone of high culture and manner as England, America was no where near close to someone to be considered, even if he _did_ look smashing in a suit. Yet even with such a lack of charm, England was quite glad for the invite. It was an unusual affliction; it must have rubbed off of America.


End file.
